


Double Scoop

by chubbuckies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Belly Kink, Chubby bucky barnes, Food Kink, Ice Cream, M/M, Milkshakes, Summer Vacation, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23252509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbuckies/pseuds/chubbuckies
Summary: Steve doesn't like his summer job at Sir-Scoops-A-Lot until his favorite customer becomes a frequent flier, filling out in all the right places.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 163





	Double Scoop

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: Milkshake

It’s Steve’s second summer working at Sir Scoops-A-Lot and he kind of hates it just as much as the first. They still haven’t gotten the AC fixed, the waffle cone iron will sometimes just start smoking for no apparent reason, and the hot lifeguard with curly black hair still comes in, smiles at Steve, and orders a two-scoop double chocolate waffle cone with sprinkles at least once a week.

Well, this summer it’s been about three times a week, but who’s counting.

Steve always gets a little tongue-tied around him, even though he’s honestly not even his type. But he’s got these really big blue eyes and this really wonderful smile and freckles that aren’t always apparent at the beginning of the summer, but come out a few weeks after he’s spent some time in the sun.

Except, this summer, the freckles are slower to come. And he’s also wearing his shirt a lot more.

“Hi,” Steve says one slow afternoon when he comes in. “We have frequent flier cards.” He thrusts one of the little hole-punch cards towards the guy.

The guy takes it and when he looks down, his chin… doubles? Slightly?

Steve feels like he needs to readjust his glasses when he sees it. But before he can inspect it further, he looks back up.

“Guess I’m really a frequent flier now, huh?” he asks, then sighs. “I’ve got a desk job this summer. I like it a lot, but I always feel like I need something sweet to end the day with. Since no one’s looking at my abs right now.” He pauses, puts a hand on a t-shirt that looks, maybe, a little tighter than it was a few weeks ago. “Well, what’s left of them,” he says with a laugh.

“We have a milkshake special,” Steve squeaks out.

The guy smiles. “Sounds good.”

— —

Six frequent flier punches later, he’s looking undeniably thicker around the waist. His cheeks round out when he smiles, showing soft dimples that didn’t appear last summer, and that hint of a double chin is apparent even when he’s not looking down.

And every frequent flier punch Steve gives him breaks him a little more, because with each passing punch, the guy becomes a little bit sweeter, a little bit more open, and…

A lot more Steve’s type.

“Hi Steve,” he says, leaning over the counter. His shirt pulls up a little, revealing some of the new love handle that curves out gently over the tight waistband of his basketball shorts. There are little white striations on the skin.

Stretch marks.

Steve wants to lick them like this guy licks his ice cream cone.

“It’s kind of weird that I know your name and you don’t know mine,” he says, eyes on Steve’s name tag.

“Do you want to tell me your name?” Steve asks.

“Do you want to know?” the guy shoots back and Steve’s goddamn cursed cheeks go a little red. The guy totally notices and smirks. “I’m Bucky.” And then he says, “Would it be gross if I got a cone to eat here and a milkshake to go?”

“Not at all,” Steve says and hates himself a little for it.

— —

“Think he’s our best customer,” one of Steve’s coworkers whispers as they watch Bucky sit down at one of the uncomfortable little tables in the small parlor section. His ass fills the seat of the chair when he sits and his shirt pulls up, showing the small of his back and maybe just the barest hint of the top of his asscrack. Bucky reaches back and tries to pull his shirt down, but to no avail.

Steve likes the view.

“Yeah,” Steve’s other coworker says. “And it’s starting to show.”

— —

By the end of the summer, Steve’s lost count of the number of times he’s punched a hole in Bucky’s frequent flier cards, but he knows it’s a lot, since Bucky’s basically there every day.

And God help him, it really does show.

The weight’s spread all over his body. His cheeks are rounder than ever and his chin sits in a little pocket of stubbled fat. He’s shaved less since the summer’s gone on, maybe to hide the way his face looks, but Steve thinks it just draws attention to it in the perfect way.

His arms are thicker, stretching the sleeves of the t-shirts he keeps wearing despite the fact that they don’t fit. The perky peeks of his thick pecks poke through his shirts, the pecs themselves resting on the shelf of tummy that seemed to appear overnight.

And there’s a tummy now. What once was abs now is fat, bowing out and filling up those tight shirts to the brim, punctuated by thick love handles that make him seem wider, thicker from every angle. More than once he’s seen Bucky touch his tummy as he leans over the case to inspect the flavors of the day, ask for a sample (or five). He’s even seen him rub that tummy when he thinks no one is looking, leaving chocolate finger stains on the shirts that don’t seem to disappear in the wash, but which Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or care about.

Even his ass and thighs have been hit, his shiny basketball shorts clinging to their greater circumference, straining when he walks, stretched to the brim when he sits.

It’s not like he’s _fat_ fat (yet) but he’s chunky-verging-on-chunky in a way that makes Steve’s mouth water.

Steve still doesn’t like his job much. They still haven’t fixed the AC, and the waffle iron nearly set on fire, but the true torture is watching Bucky come in every day, eat his ice cream, and leave.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he leaves and goes back to school for the semester. He’ll be bereft.

— —

On his last week, Bucky seems to come in more than usual.

“Walking by this place when it’s closed all winter makes me so sad,” he says, eating his triple scoop cone. Steve’s got his now customary milkshake to-go waiting for him.

“You live around here?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I go to the university just down the road.”

It’s a big state school, the kind of place where you don’t know everyone. And it just so happens that Steve goes there, too.

“Oh, so do I.”

Bucky looks away from his cone and over at Steve. A bit of melted chocolate runs down the side of his mouth, gets stuck on his double chin. “You do?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be a junior this year.”

“That’s cool,” Bucky says, then licks his scoop again, seemingly deep in thought. “Well, if you miss seeing my face every day, we could, I dunno, hang out or something?”

“Really?” Steve asks, heart quickening just a little.

“Sure,” Bucky says, before taking a lick. “Like, go to the movies, maybe, or a restaurant, you know, like a date or something?” His chubby cheeks are really red and Steve just wants to _bite_ them. But before he can say _yes, absolutely, pick me up at eight_ , Bucky says, “I mean, I know I got kinda fat this summer, but—“

“That’s not an issue,” Steve interrupts. The corners of Bucky’s lips tick up into a smile. “I think you look good this way. Honestly, I think you look _better_.”

“You do?” Bucky asks.

Steve nods.

And they both grin.

— —

It’s Steve’s third summer working at Sir-Scoops-A-Lot and he’s ready to start the best summer of Steve’s life.

The thing is, Steve gets a friends and family discount. And with his boyfriend, Bucky, being up about forty pounds since the end of last summer and aiming for another twenty before this summer ends, he’s finally going to get to take full advantage of it.


End file.
